Unwritten Moments 2
by themockingjayandpeeta
Summary: This takes place after Finnick says he'll go to sleep if Katniss is going to keep watch. This takes place between then and sometime before Katniss falls asleep and wakes up to the poisonous fog. Keep in mind the force field had nearly killed Peeta earlier that day. It is my belief that when Katniss thought he had died that she had realized then that she needed Peeta.


This takes place after Finnick says he'll go to sleep if Katniss is going to keep watch. This takes place between then and sometime before Katniss falls asleep and wakes up to the poisonous fog. Keep in mind the force field had nearly killed Peeta earlier that day. It is my belief that when Katniss thought he had died that she had realized then that she needed Peeta.

This is my second Hunger Games fan fic. The first one is Unwritten Moments. Feel free to read it, though you don't have to read that one to understand this one. I plan on writing two more Unwritten Moments, one right after Katniss tells Peeta that she needs him, and one that takes place at the end of Mockingjay. For now, enjoy #2. Reviews are welcome. J

After Peeta was sure Finnick had fallen asleep, he quietly stood up and walked to Katniss. Though Finnick was his ally, he'd be a fool to leave him alone with Katniss.

"I'll be back in a little while," he told her softly when he approached her, keeping his voice low to make sure nobody woke up. "I won't be gone long, and I won't be far. Call out for me if you need me." He glanced at Finnick, sending Katniss his real message. She nodded, clearly confused, but didn't ask him where he was going.

He took off into the woods, and sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed. He had thought he had heard the gentle flow of a stream. When had his ears started to pick up sounds? Figures they'd find it after Haymitch had sent them a spile.

Peeta undressed and quickly got into the stream, sighing with relief at the cool water and the fact that it wasn't very deep. His chest was covered but it went no deeper than that. He knew he should tell the others, but for now he just wanted to enjoy this.

He sighed and ducked his head under water, allowing the cool drops to drip down his body and relieve some of the soreness he had received after the force field blew up—the soreness he hid as well as he could from Katniss and the others. He hid it from Katniss because he couldn't bare to see her pretend to be concerned about him and he hit hid it from the group so that they wouldn't suspect weakness. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his locks when a figure started to come into view.

His breath caught in his throat. There was Katniss, standing in front of him, looking like some warrior goddess with her bow on her back, her thick hair sticking to her due to the heat that had not lessened or lightened up, even though it was dark now. Katniss, who he had never spoken with about what had happened last night. Katniss, who had kissed him when he came back to life after losing the battle against the force field, and even after everything he still wondered if a part of her really did care….

He didn't say a word as she stood there. They just stayed rooted to their spots, him in the stream, her at the edge of the woods. How long did they stay there, really? A second? A minute? An hour? A year? He wasn't sure, but suddenly she took the bow off of her and lowered it to the ground. Then—his heart started to pound… what was she doing?—she unzipped her own jumpsuit.

"Katniss…" He spoke her name as an unasked question. He willed himself to stare into her eyes. He would _not_ look down.

She smirked. "You act like you haven't seen it before, Peeta," said Katniss, her voice amused.

"I- I haven't," he stuttered. "I didn't—never—saw… or _looked_." It was true. Last night had been a blur. He barely remembered his own nakedness, let alone hers. She, however, seemed completely unaffected, and slithered into the water, right up to him, and kissed him.

It seemed… different, this time. Was he imagining that? Did he wish it felt different because he so desperately wanted Katniss to love him back, the same way he loved her?

When she bit his lower lip questions and thoughts flew out the window. Who needed to think when _this_ was happening again? Who cared about the fact that was a group of people a few yards away, or that they were in the Arena, in the middle of the 75th Hunger Games, and that people were watching, or that there were—

"Cameras," he muttered.

Katniss didn't stiffen. She didn't pull back, abashed. She barely removed her lips from his when she said, "So? Who cares? We're supposed to be married."

He ignored the piercing that statement left in his heart, as if she had just shot a bow into his very artery. The question of if the kiss was different had just been answered.

"What if Finnick catches us off guard?"

"Then I'll die the way I want to go: with you." She stared at him with those words. "Don't you remember? I wanted nobody else in this Arena." She pressed her lips to his again and kissed him, hard. He started to speak again after his brain started working but she cut him off. "Stop thinking, Peeta," she said against his ear. He suppressed a shiver. "Stop thinking and just feel. Just feel," she repeated in a whisper.

And unexpectedly he _did_ feel. Suddenly he was aware, incredibly aware, of her breasts on his chest, her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his thick, golden locks. Then her lips were on his again, and it was breathtaking. He ignored the voice in his head that tried to tell him this was different, and focused on kissing her back.

The faces of the fallen victims, former victors, did not pass through his brain as he closed his eyes to the pleasure. Though he knew that the other victors had to die—some at his own hands—it did not stop him from seeing their faces every time he closed his eyes. Normally he saw him in the order that played at the end of the night.

But not now.

Not at this moment.

In this moment, it was just Katniss, his hands against her smooth body.

Once again there was no exploring. He tried to remember what she looked like naked, as she had just stripped in front of him, but he could not remember. It didn't matter, in this moment, anyway.

They made their way to the edge of the stream, using the wall for support, and suddenly her long, lean legs wrapped around his waist. How was she so perfect? When did it happen? She'd always been heart stopping. Since she was five years old, on that first day of school, her hair as black then as it was now, her eyes just as blue, she had had the ability to stop time.

When he pushed into her he tried not to love her. He tried to tell himself it was just sex. That's all she wanted. So that's all it was. Therefore, he allowed himself to stop thinking and just… feel.

Her lips were once again fire on his, a welcome contrast to the cool of the stream. Her skin, wet with water, was slippery against his, but as he gripped her hips he dug his fingers into her flesh, determined to hold on to her, to this, to them, in this moment. He felt her breath on his neck as she cried out from pleasure, and felt the way her nails left scratches on his back.

He felt the vibrations from his own throat as a low moan escaped. He felt his breath hitch as her first orgasm passed. He felt the way her legs tightened around his waist. He also felt his feet dig into the bottom of the stream as he started to pound faster. He felt the wave of pleasure when she came again, allowing himself one small moment to think about the fact that he was doing this to and for her. He felt the water against his chest as they met each other's fierce thrusts.

He gasped when she clenched around him for her third orgasm, and there it was again, that chant, that plea, that _prayer_ as she moaned his name over and over and over and over again.

Somehow, someway, she pulled him in deeper and closer. Her arms, which had been around his neck, then down his back, were now positioned around his waist. Her face was buried in his neck, her moans muffled by his own moans and the water splashing around them.

"Cum with me," she rasped out against his ear. "Please, Peeta." She groaned. "God, please, please, please." Her words followed the pace of their thrusts.

"When?" asked Peeta, his breath coming out in hitches, because who the hell was he to deny her _anything_, ever?

She cried out, throwing her head back. "Now. God, now. Now, now, now, _now_!" Her muscles tightened around him and he'd have cum then even if she hadn't asked. He gave himself to her, gave all of him, and she took it, took it, took it, all the while chanting his name.

He was drowning. Surely he was drowning, because he certainly couldn't stand. Not after that. Surely he was having a heart attack, though it was beating. Certainly it was beating, so hard it was a wonder it didn't fly out of his chest. He slid out of her and Katniss immediately lowered her legs from around his waist. Her own breathing was rough. Her lips were red and swollen, her face flushed.

It took everything in him to meet her eyes, and when he did they were the bluest they'd ever been. He felt his breath catch in his throat again.

"I guess I should get back," he finally said softly, breaking the silence. She nodded. He wanted to touch her again, but he figured the moment was probably over. He pulled himself out of the stream, dressed quickly, and headed back to camp. Everyone was still asleep. Nobody, except possibly the world, knew what he and Katniss had just done.

A few moments later, Katniss passed him. He was greeted with the briefest of touches, a gentle ruffling of his hair as her fingers skimmed his locks. Much like last night, when she had laid her head on his chest after they had done what they done, she was letting him know that she did not regret what had just happened with that simple gesture.

He smiled as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
